Justin Bieber's Surrogate Mother Ch. 01

Susan meets Justin Bieber in an empty elevator.

It was late and Susan just wanted to go to bed after paying her last respects to her friend's mother who had died. It was an Irish funeral and there was as much drinking and laughing at her childhood friend Colleen's house as there were tears and sadness. Surely knowing that it would, she needed to get out of there before something happened, as always it did.

Even at a funeral, the same old thing happened with drunken men hitting on her. Whispering their inappropriate words in her ear, they squeezed her ass and groped her breasts. They never failed to show her the lust they had for her by putting her hand on their cocks through their pants when pushing her up against the wall and trying to kiss her. Even old, Father Monahan trying to corner her in a room alone was intent on getting her down on her knees to give her more than just his blessing.

Tired of fighting off men, she was tired of being sexually abused by drunken men and/or men who just wanted her for the night. She swore that the next man who touched her in an unwelcomed, sexual way would be sorry. Wishing and wanting to have a real loving relationship with a kind and caring man, she had enough of one night stands. Surely, being the good and attractive woman she is, there's someone out there for her.

She hasn't dated anyone since her divorce and before when she was the faithful wife, albeit pressured by her Ex to experience the swinging lifestyle. Her ex-husband was the one who wanted to watch her having sex with other men and woman. Only, when she did what he wanted her to do, he deemed her a slut and dumped her.

Thinking back now of her swinging days, it was more good than bad. She met a lot of nice people. Normal but for their abnormal and overactive libidos, she's glad she experienced that dark side of sexuality with having multiple partners while her husband watched, joined in, or masturbated in the corner.

With a watchful eye of every man around her at that late hour, she walked the four blocks to her hotel. It was cold but she didn't care. She didn't dare take a ride from anyone at the funeral. They were all too drunk to drive. Besides, having been down that road many times before when accepting a ride from someone, with desperate groping and forced kissing while exposing their cocks to her, once getting her alone, they all tried to get her to have sex with them in the car.

Spending the last hour with Colleen's friends and family singing old, Irish ballads and lullabies, she left there on a high note. Her apartment was stuffy with wall-to-wall people all talking at the same time and breathing in the same stale air. She needed some air and she needed to clear her mind of the alcohol before it was too late and she did something stupid with someone that she'd regret later. Eager to leave, she had enough and Colleen's apartment was too close to the hotel to even bother taking a cab. Besides, being that she had a little too much to drink too, the chill of the night air felt good.

Finally alone with her thoughts, she remembered Colleen's mother, Maureen, and how kind she had been to her through the years. After losing contact with her friend for so many years, she was sad to receive the phone call from Colleen that her mother had passed. Much has happened since the good old days when she'd walk over the bridge from Boston to meet Colleen in a South Boston bar to hopefully meet someone nice from the old neighborhood.

Now, after her marriage and subsequent divorce, she was alone. Then, after losing her job, being unemployed for a long time, and then losing everything in a flood, sometimes she wished she was dead too. Living life, on the other hand, has been hard, very hard. Compared to living, dying was easy. Yet, knowing there were so many others worse off, she was lucky that she had her health.

Now living in the cramped space of a spare bedroom in a house owned by a kind Mennonite woman, better than sleeping in a shelter, eating in a mission, and roaming the unsafe streets of downtown Harrisburg as she did this time last year, she was lucky to have a roof over her head. Yet, feeling suffocated and trapped in the middle of nowhere on a farm with no one to talk to, sometimes she felt as if she was a prisoner in a minimum security women's prison with Margret, her hostess as her warden. Her own worst enemy by allowing the stress of her situation to get to her, she needed to get her life back. She needed a job and her own apartment.

Always trying to fix her up with one of her four sons, her mind suddenly flooded with Colleen's mother telling everyone how pretty she was while making her feel so very special and so very loved whenever she was in her friend's house. Unlike her selfish, self-centered, and self-absorbed mother, Maureen was a kind and selfless mother. That was then and this is now. Times have changed and life must continue even if it meant continuing without Colleen's mother.

No one made a big deal over her any more in the way that Colleen's mother had, except for men who wanted to fuck her and men who wanted her to suck them. It was the same, sad, old story with men. All the men she ever met were married or divorced with one foot in the past and the other in the present. Content just to sexually use and abuse her, none of the men she knew were wanted to leave their wives enough to put a ring on her finger. Filling a role and a need, she was nothing more than a little something on the side. Overdue for a stroke of luck before experiencing a stroke herself from being so alone, she wished something good would happen to her.

There was a limousine pulling away from the curb of the hotel when she walked up to the front door. She wished someone would whisk her away in a limousine. Pretending that she was someone special to somebody, she wished someone would take her out on the town and treat her to dinner and a movie. She wondered who was in the limousine or who they dropped off at the hotel.

It was a swanky hotel, a place she could never afford if Colleen hadn't paid for her bus fare and hotel room. She wished her life was different. She wished she was rich. She'd love to have a wedding reception here. She wished she had married better. Married to a Boston cop who made good money between overtime, special detail duty, and court appearances, she wished she had Colleen's life.

Somehow life isn't always fair and things don't work out as planned. While Colleen always struggled in school, it's funny how Susan was always the smart one, the one who excelled in school, the one who's now drowning in unpaid student loans for the sake of graduating college in the hopes of getting a better job and having a better life. Even though she worked hard to obtain her American dream life, it's somehow oxymoronic that she's still unemployed, still homeless, and still living in the spare bedroom of a kind Mennonite woman. Now Colleen, barely a high school graduate, has everything that she wanted, a good husband, a happy marriage, three children, and a nice home, while she has nothing and no one.

Susan walked through the revolving shiny brass and glass doors and through the huge chandeliered lit lobby of the hotel. Reverberating off the marble walls to fill the high ceilings as if she was arriving late for Sunday mass, her heels echoed her notice on the Travertine tiles that she had arrived, even though she hadn't. Nothing more than an interloper, a fake, a phony, and a fraud, her travel expenses were paid by Colleen for her to be here to pay her last respects to her friend's deceased mother.

The hotel, except for the doorman out front, and except for the desk clerk in the lobby, was empty. Everyone who was supposed to arrive had arrived before everyone who was supposed to leave filled the lobby to leave in the morning. No doubt, all the guests were in their rooms having sex, watching television, or sleeping.

With an entire bank of empty elevators waiting for her, as if destine to take this particular elevator at this particular time, Susan walked on an elevator that the doors were already open. There was a kid wearing a black, leather jacket leaning innocuously against the back wall. She took note of him but didn't get a good look at him because he had a head full of long hair and had his head down as if he was drunk on alcohol, high on drugs, and/or sleeping. She pushed her floor and the elevator doors closed. She pushed her floor again when the elevator wasn't moving.

"The elevator isn't moving," she said obviously waking him up when he yawned and stretched to the man behind her.

"Don't you know who I am?" He looked up at her and smiled.

"Should I know who you are?" She looked at him with the attitude of a woman who just wanted to go to bed alone.

"Yeah," he said. "My face is plastered everywhere."

He pushed his hair out of his beady, brown eyes and looked at her with his pearly, white teeth. He was just a kid. He couldn't have been more than twenty-years-old and 5'7" tall. With her high heels and hair up, she towered over him by six inches.

"No, I don't know who you are but you look a little like Justin Bieber," she said with a laugh. "Sorry, if I insulted you by saying you looked like that goofball," she said.

"I am Justin Bieber," he said striking a pose. "I accept your apology," he said with a bow.

"No kidding. Wow. Every teenyboppers' fantasy, I'm trapped in an elevator with Justin Bieber," she laughing before looking from him to stare at the closed elevator doors. "What should we do? Should we press something or call someone? There's usually a phone to call security," she said looking back at him in her inebriated fog before helplessly staring at the elevator panel.

Justin walked past her to insert his key to his penthouse suite. The elevator silently moved. Bypassing her floor, the elevator suddenly became an express elevator to the top

"You're very good looking for an old broad," he said leaning in to sniff her hair as if he was a dog and she was something to eat or hump. "You smell like cigarettes and whiskey. You smell like I do when I do Vegas," he said with a laugh.

"Thank you for your rude comment but I'm hardly old and I'm not a broad," she said insulted. "I just turned forty in July."

"You're old to me," he said. "I'll be nineteen on March first."

"Wow. Nineteen. You make me feel so old," she said watching the lights flash as the elevator climbed higher. "Where are you taking me?"

"To my penthouse suite."

"The penthouse? I've never been in a penthouse suite," she said looking at him. "How expensive is that?"

"I stay here for free."

"Free? You do?" She looked at him impressed. "What do you perform for the hotel in exchange for your room?"

"I own the hotel," he said beaming with pride.

"You own this hotel," she said with a laugh, "or does your daddy own this hotel?"

"My Dad's been out of my life for a long time," he said with hard to hide sadness. "It's just me and my Mom now. We're a team. We're always together. We're inseparable," he said looking her over real good before a look of anger controlled his face. "My Mom had be buy the hotel as an investment should my fifteen minutes of fame end and my career not continue," he said with a smile.

"You're Mom's a smart woman. The public is fickle when it comes to celebrities," she said. "Here today and gone to tomorrow.

"My Mom makes mistakes. She's not so smart, especially when it comes to men," he said acting as if he was jealous that his mom had a man in her life other than him.

She's no psychiatrist but if she was a doctor, her diagnosis would be was that he was a bit too attached to his mother.

Reading the sudden look of jealous anger that consumed his face, she figured there was an incestuous story there to tell. Somehow, she could just hear him say, 'I love you Mommy.' Yet, meaning it in the way that a man loves a woman and not in the way that a son should love his mother, she could only imagine how fucked up he was to travel the country with his mother alone as if he was still a boy instead of a man.

"What are you doing? You went by my floor," she said already forgetting that he told her that he was taking her to his penthouse. "My room is on the sixth floor, not the thirtieth," she said looking up at the numbers climbing before turning to confront him. "Where are you taking me?"

"I thought you'd like to see my suite and maybe have a drink," he said giving her the eye.

"I'll come see your place but I'll take a rain check on the drink. You're not old enough to legally drink and I already had enough to drink. I just came from an Irish funeral. My best friend's mother died," she said. "The reason why I smell like cigarettes and whiskey," she said pulling her hair forward to smell it.

"My condolences. If you give me her address later, I'll send flowers," he said.

"Thank you," she said.

"You can take a shower at my place," he said with excitement.

"I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" She looked at him with certainty that he was a pervert. "Me showering in one of the many bathrooms of your suite, I don't think so. What do you have them all wired with video cameras to watch me undress and shower?"

"No, not at all. You have me all wrong. I'm nothing like that," he said.

"Well, here we are," he said when the elevator doors parted.

Easily 6,000 square feet, a two story mansion sized, luxury apartment on the very top of a swanky hotel, she never imagined there was a suite as big as this atop a hotel. Having never been in a penthouse suite before, she was eager to take a tour. It wasn't until she saw his wall of photos of himself with celebrities and a whole wall of trophies and awards that she not only recognized him but also believed him that he was Justin Bieber. The reality of who he was took hold of her as if she was a star struck teenager.

"I don't believe it. You're Justin Bieber," she said.

"In the flesh," he said fixing his hair while staring at himself in the mirror.

"I never liked you. I don't know why but I always figured you for a pervert," she said seeing the hurt in his eyes. "I'm sorry. That's not me talking. That's the alcohol. Alcohol for me is like a truth serum. I can't tell a lie and am brutally honest."

"Would you do me a big favor?"

"What?"

"Would you go to bed with me?"

"Pardon?"

"Would you sleep with me?"

"No," she said wrapping her arms around herself. "I won't sleep with you," she said looking at him as if he was Quasimodo or Victor Hugo's Hunchback of Notre Dame.

"Why not?" He looked at her with interest as if she was the answer to his dreams.

"Because I'm old enough to be your mother and you're young enough to be my son. Eww. I'm no cougar," she said. "Just the thought of having sex with a nineteen-year-old makes my skin crawl," she said.

"Sex is not part of the equation. Just as you don't want to have sex with me. I don't want to have sex with you. I just want to sleep," he said.

"Sleep? Yeah, sure, been there and done that before. I'm just tired and want to take a nap is what they all say," she said. "Then once you get me in bed it's a wrestling match."

"Listen honey, I have money, lots and lots of money. I can give you whatever you want and whatever you need but more importantly, I can give you all those things that you don't really need, such as, cars, trips, jewelry, furs, furniture, and more shoes," he said with a laugh before suddenly looking sad.

"Why would you buy me things when I won't have sex with you?" She looked at him with curiosity.

"Seriously, I just want to get a good night's sleep. If you just spend the night with me to keep me company, you'd make me happy and I'd be very generously grateful for the favor of your company. I hate being alone. I don't want to be alone. I can't sleep when I'm alone," he said.

"Where's your mother?" She looked around him.

"My Mom's not here. She stayed home this trip," he said tensing. "She's been seeing someone and, suddenly, she doesn't have time for me," he said banging his fist with anger on a table.

"Yeah, well, what I don't need is you, your drama, and whatever is going on between you and your mother. So if you could unlock the elevator door, I'd like to leave please," she said with authority.

He looked around his suite as if she wasn't even there and spoke as if talking to himself.

"Look at all this stuff. Suddenly, I feel a little like Michael Jackson. No one needs all this stuff." He looked at her standing by the elevator and ready to bolt. "Do you know how many cars I have?" He looked as if waiting for her to guess before looking away.

"I don't have a clue how many cars you have. Can I please leave now?"

"I have too many cars to count, a Bentley, a custom Cadillac, a Ferrari, Lamborghini, and a Porsche just to name a few. Answer me one question," he said looking at her again. "Why do I have so many cars when I only need the one car?"

"I really don't care," she said.

"I never thought I'd reach a point where I no longer wanted anything and I've done that already when I'm not even 19-years-old. Already bored with life, what am I supposed to do now?" He looked to her for answers and when she didn't give him an answer, he asked her another question. "More importantly, what am I supposed to do later in my life?"

He was pathetic and she somehow felt sorry for the poor, rich man.

"Everyone wants something Justin. May I call you Justin?"

"Yes, of course. What's your name? So wrapped up in myself, I don't even know your name," he said.

"Susan. Susan Jill Parker," she said holding her hand out to shake his hand.

"Even the very wealthy want something," said Susan talking to him as if she was his mother instead of a stranger, a woman he just met. "Just ask yourself what do you want? What do you really want in life? For someone who already has everything and who could have anything, I have more than you do because I have myself and I happen to like who I am," she said.

"I can see that about you. I like you," he said. "You exude confidence. You know what to do in any situation, which is why I want you to spend the night with me."

"If you think that you can pay me money to have sex with you, then you can forget about that," she said giving him a vile look. "I'm not a whore. I'm not a prostitute. Besides, you're half my age. I don't have sex with minors."

"I'm not a minor." he said. "I'll be nineteen in six weeks. Besides, don't flatter yourself. I don't want to have sex with you. I'd rather have sex with a woman my age. Besides, I have a girlfriend."

"Then, I don't understand," she said looking at him with a motherly look. "Why do you want me to sleep with you when you prefer women your age and when you have a girlfriend?"

"Because, obviously, I want my mother. I want my mommy. Since she's not here, I'll pay you to take her place," he said as if he was a little boy lost and trapped in the body of a 19-year-old soon to be a man.

"You have a funny way of showing you don't want to have sex with me by offering me money to spend the night with you," she said just now appreciating the fact that Justin Bieber asked her to sleep with him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That was wrong for me to disrespect you like that. Sometimes I come off too strong. I think everything and everyone is for sale and that I can have whatever I want, whenever I want it. Please forgive me," he said looking at her. "I need your help."

"My help? Me help you? Why should I? Why me?"

"Because you're beautiful, sexy, shapely, and older than me. Even though you look nothing like my mother, you're more my Mom's age," he said.

"Your Mom? You have a crush on your Mom?"

"Crush? I wouldn't call what we have a crush. I'd more call it a sexual, incestuous relationship," he said with a laugh and without embarrassment.